


Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time | Sam Winchester/Reader

by shyangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fun, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Panic! at the Disco References, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Self-Insert, like a tiny bit of angst at the start but not for long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyangel/pseuds/shyangel
Summary: Normally a cold and apathetic hunter, you show a new side to yourself after a few drinks. Well, maybe a little more than a few...





	Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time | Sam Winchester/Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Based on request: The reader is a very cold and apathetic hunter. She has worked with the Winchester’s for years and never softened up. One night she gets drunk and it’s like a switch has been flipped-she’s affectionate and happy and just the opposite of her sober self.  
> Also heavily based off 'Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time' by Panic! At The Disco, hence the title!

You set your jaw at the all too familiar scene before you.

The corpse was twisted and bloodied, barely even recognisable as human after the gruelling werewolf attack. Worst of all, his fate was your fault.

He’d been bait - you’d been so _sure_ that your plan would work, and to your credit, it did. But you’d been so cautious, you hadn’t anticipated his untimely demise. Regardless, you knew that no hunt was certain - you’d witnessed firsthand the unspeakable atrocities that could fall upon the most undeserving and unwitting victims. By the time you’d met the Winchesters, you’d been hardened by the cruel hunting life. You’d learned not to dwell on what couldn’t be changed, to always move forward.

Some might call you cold - you preferred to label yourself ‘resilient.’

“Well, that’s that,” you remarked, swallowing hard. You wiped your bloodstained hands on your jeans. “Let’s go, yeah?”

Sam and Dean nodded solemnly, muttering their agreement. They were used to your apathy by now - they understood burying painful feelings more than anyone.

There was no buoyancy in your step as the three of you trudged towards the Impala, slicing through the balmy night air. Sam’s hand found yours, and you laced your fingers with your boyfriend’s, giving them a comforting squeeze. He offered a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes, before opting to cram his tall frame into the back seat with you.

The gentle purr of the engine almost lulled you to sleep as you returned to the bunker, where you were quick to shower. As you wiped the mist from the mirror, wrapped in only your towel, your gaze found that of your reflection. Hard, and guarded, in perfect synchronicity with the scars marring your skin - evidence of your hunting lifestyle. You clenched your jaw and turned away from the mirror, running your fingers through your wet hair before changing into your pyjamas and meeting Sam in bed.

You weren’t one for physical affection, whether public or private, but tonight you inched a little closer to Sam’s chest. He’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he’d hit the mattress, but even in his slumber, his arm found its way around your shoulders. In his resting state, the youngest Winchester seemed to find at least some semblance of peace. His slack jaw and the quiet snores grazing past his lips made you smile, and you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before laying to sleep yourself, your hand tight within his.

—

Barely a week later, you and the Winchesters finally found reason to celebrate.

The salt and burn was as straightforward as it sounded, and for once, it felt like you had caught a break. And so, the three of you unanimously agreed to stop by the cheapest bar you could find in lieu of returning to the nearby motel.

The boys were only four drinks in before they challenged you to join them.

“C’mon, just one,” Dean prompted. “You never have any fun - you deserve one drink, you _smashed_ that research today,” he added encouragingly.

“Yeah!” Sam supported eagerly, eyes lighting up as you smiled at his overeager expression. “My shout, you want a beer?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, honey, if I’m drinking, then I’m _drinking_. Break out the tequila,” you informed him, raising an eyebrow slyly. Sam grinned, whilst Dean looked mostly impressed as you downed shot… after shot… after shot…

“Okay, maybe it’s time for some water,” Sam interjected, gently taking your seventh shot glass from your hand. You looked up at him with wide doe eyes, suddenly realising exactly how attractive he was.

“Nooo,” you slurred, surprising yourself as you stumbled. Sam caught you before you could fall, and you beamed up at him. “Thanks!” you exclaimed, and he chuckled.

“You take a seat. I’ll get you some water, okay?”

You made a face. “That’s no fun. You gotta get on my _level_ ,” you informed him, and he bit back a grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” you said firmly. Sam moved towards the bar, but you leapt forward and grabbed his arm, clinging to him like a koala. “Wait!” you cried, clutching his arm tightly. He glanced down in concern.

“What is it?”

You smiled cheekily. “I wanna hug,” you announced, and Sam laughed as you threw your arms around him. He hugged you to his chest, running his hand lightly down your back as he did so. You nuzzled into his neck affectionately, your body flush against his. You drew away slightly, gazing up at him in admiration.

“You’re really pretty,” you told him solemnly. He nodded seriously.

“Thank you. You’re really pretty too, Y/N,” he returned, and you giggled, moving your hand to his neck and pulling his tall frame down to yours in a kiss. He paused in surprise at your blatant affection, but was quick to lean into it, his hands resting on your waist as he kissed you softly. You pulled back with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“You’re a _great_ kisser,” you informed him. “Why don’t we do that more often? Who cares about these people anyway, we’re never gonna see them again!” you rambled, and Sam laughed, kissing your temple affectionately.

“You’re right,” he allowed, “but I _really_ think it’s time you have some water.”

“I’ll have some water if you do shots with me,” you bargained. Sam considered for a moment, before nodding.

“Fine,” he allowed. You obediently drank a glass of water, before the two of you fell into what was certainly a very dangerous drinking competition that resulted in the two of you becoming slurring, stumbling messes of human beings.

“No, I love _you_ more,” you argued, slinging your arms around Sam’s neck as you held fast to him in a vain attempt to walk straight. Before he could reply, you caught sight of Dean across the bar, clearly flirting with the blonde bartender. “Dean!” you cried in excitement, and he turned around with a raised brow, only to release an oof of surprise as you slammed into him, giving him a firm hug. He returned it as he laughed.

“Look at you,” he remarked, chuckling, as the two of you drew away. “Someone’s gonna be hungover in the morning - this isn’t like you, Y/N,” he commented, but you brushed him off with a wave.

“Pshh, this is _exactly_ like me,” you slurred. You turned around to find Sam, only to see him drunkenly attempting to play a game of pool with a guy in a chiffon skirt. He laughed good naturedly as he tossed down the pool cue, obviously having lost a bet. His competition tugged off his shoes - a pair of stilettos - and handed them to Sam with a shit eating grin. Sam held fast to a pole as he kicked off his own shoes and slipped on the heels. Meanwhile, Dean stood to the side, quietly pissing himself with laughter.

You giggled hysterically as you stumbled towards your boyfriend, your arms looping around his neck as you caught yourself. He almost fell, but you pulled him towards you and met his lips with yours in a sloppy, drunken kiss, all tongue and teeth as the two of you pressed together.

“I _love_ the heels,” you remarked breathlessly as you drew away, and Sam laughed.

“I lost a bet, but I totally make them work,” he slurred, and you nodded seriously.

“Definitely,” you said, your eyes widening in delight as you glanced over his shoulder and out the window to see what was possibly the most exciting sight you had ever witnessed: an abandoned shopping cart.

“Sam!” you hissed, nodding pointedly towards the cart. His gaze followed yours, and his eyes lit up. The two of you made eye contact, and you didn’t even have to speak before you were both stumbling out to the near empty parking lot.

By the time you reached the cart, one of Sam’s new shoes were already missing, and the other was missing a heel. Sam held the trolley as you leapt inside, cheering as Sam began to run, pushing the trolley and whooping gleefully as the two of you charged through the empty streets, the night air filled with the metallic rattle of the wheels and your ecstatic cries.

The two of you found your way back to the motel, sweating and panting between giggles. The two of you stumbled inside, and you patted down Sam’s pockets until you found the room key card. You paused as the two of you found yourselves in an unfamiliar corridor.

“Where’s our room again?” you asked breathlessly, and Sam shrugged, looking around curiously. You felt a surge of excitement as you saw the waist-high metal gates to the motel pool, the rusted metal peering through strips of peeling white paint.

“Sam!” you exclaimed, elbowing him sharply to get his attention.

“Ow! What?”

“Pool!” you said simply, and your boyfriend grinned before following you as you sprinted drunkenly towards the fence.

“What are you doing?” he called as you refused to slow down.

“I’m gonna jump it!” you announced, but the gate seemed to sneak up on you, and before you could stop yourself the metal had slammed into your stomach and you were propelled to the other side. You grunted as you hit the cement, but giggled as you realised you couldn’t feel the pain from the fresh scrapes on your palms.

“Shit, are you okay?” Sam slurred, fumbling with the gate before finally getting it open in spite of his clumsy fingers.

“The floor attacked me,” you grumbled as Sam pulled you to your feet, his hands on your waist as he steadied you despite his own swaying stance. You laughed, spinning around and looping your arms around his neck. “Dance with me!”

His grin was intoxicating as one hand moved to the small of your back, the two of you oscillating unsteadily.

“Spin me, spin me!” you ordered, hiccuping. He did so, but instead of letting him pull you back, your balance escaped you and you tumbled into the pool with a splash, tugging Sam after you.

You yelped as the icy, waist deep water engulfed you, but easily got to your feet. You and Sam appraised each other silently, clothes drenched, before bursting into laughter.

“I can’t believe you two are more wasted than _me,_ ” a voice grumbled, and the two of you looked up to see Dean standing at the gate and shaking his head. “Come on, out. You two are getting some water, aspirin, and going to bed,” he said firmly. You narrowed your eyes at him, shaking your head stubbornly.

“Nuh-uh! Look, there’s plenty of water here!” you informed him, and Sam laughed like you’d just made the funniest joke in the world. Dean groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“Fine! Just stay here all night, see if I care!”

You and Sam exchanged glances. “Look like Dean’s mad,” he whispered theatrically, and you erupted in a fit of giggles.

“I think you’re right! C’mon, let’s get out, I’m cold,” you slurred, taking Dean’s outstretched hand and letting him haul you out of the pool. The moment you were in the motel room, you caught sight of the full bottle of whiskey sitting on the shelf. Your eyes lit up.

The night was far from over.

—

You woke up on the floor, wearing nothing but your underwear, though your modesty was preserved with a towel. Your head throbbed, your stomach churned, and you groaned. Rolling over, you saw Sam laying next to you with a kid’s party hat strapped to his head, using an empty beer bottle as a pillow.

A voice laughed, and you turned around with bleary eyes to see Dean sitting on his bed with a cup of coffee and an amused smirk etched onto his features. “Morning,” he greeted with a nod. “How’s the head?”

You ignored him, moaning as you laid down and threw your arm over your eyes, which were burning with the morning light. Sam stirred next to you, but didn’t awake.

“What happened?” you mumbled. “I… I remember the pool, then…”

“Then you and Sam thought, hey, we already can’t taste, let’s share Dean’s _whole friggin’ bottle of whiskey_ ,” he said irritably.

“And my clothes..?”

“Apparently being in the same room as Sam made you ‘too hot.’” Dean made a face of disgust. “Then you started singing ‘Hot in Herre’ and stripping. And _then_ Sam saw some kids old crappy party hat in the trash, and thought it’d be a great idea to wear it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. The pounding in your skull was quick to make you regret the movement. Something hard and plastic hit your chest, and as you lifted it to the light you saw that it was a water bottle, provided courtesy of Dean.

“Thanks,” you muttered. Sam released a guttural moan beside you.

“Can you two shut up? I’m so hungover I think I can see sounds.”

You chuckled, and even as you swallowed back a wave of nausea, you were surprised at your realisation:

Hungover as you may be, you didn’t regret a single moment of the night before.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a kudos if you enjoyed! :)  
> [My Writing Tumblr](http://team-free-will-oneshots.tumblr.com/)


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